


You know why

by mimillekoishi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (And Clarke watches), Anal Fingering, Can sound like rape but it's not I swear, Cheating, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, F/F, Masturbation, Mother!Clarke, Nanny!Lexa, Smut, Toxic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimillekoishi/pseuds/mimillekoishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is married and has two kids. Lexa is said kids nanny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Lexa

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone !
> 
> This fic is an experiment. I will give you more details about it in an author's note later. 
> 
> There will be 3 chapters in all. One showin Lexa's pov, one showing Clarke's and a last one which will be really short and more like a bonus because I love you all and want you to forgive me ;)
> 
> Anyway. I would like you to read the first chapter and tell me what you thought about it. Then read chapter 2 and tell me what you thouht about it. The chapter 3 will be the author's note and where I will explain what this experiment is about. On this chapter 3 I will most likely ask you to tell me what you thought about those 2 first chapters put together.
> 
> This whole experiment is based on your reactions so I really really want to know what you think and how you felt. 
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading and I hope you will find this work interesting.  
>  

You close your book.

You've read this line too many times already and you know why.

You look at your watch. Almost midnight. They could be home any moment now. You decide to go check on the kids. You get up the stairs you've learned to know along the years you've worked here. You're quick but silent. You know this house as well as yours.

Your feet lead you to a pink door. It is dark in the corridor but it definitely is pink and it makes you smile. You open the door, not too much because you know it'll make noise if you push too far. Your head slips in the small opening and you can't help the swell of your heart at the sight. In the way too pink room, Mia is sleeping in her way too pink bed and pajamas. Time has passed but Mia is still the same. She is glitters and laughs and unicorns and you love her.

You close the door carefully because you know the girl's sleep is light. You turn back and on the other side of the corridor you see the black door. It used to be a light shade of blue. You miss it because you love blue and you know why.

You turn the doorknob and are not surprised by the dim light. The boy has changed so much. His father's fault you think. You hate the man. You can't help it. But you love Lyam. He is a gentle kid, caring and patient. He loves his sister and protects her. Your eyes fall on the night light near the boy's bed and you remember the day you offered it to him, to take away his fears, to chase out the monsters haunting his dreams. Your heart sink, knowing that now this night light is not enough.

You love these kids, and you tell yourself they're the reason you always come back. But it's a lie and deep down you know why.

You leave the room, walk down the corridor and the stairs. When you reach the living room you hear the beep of the dish washer and decide to take care of it. You enter the kitchen. You don't turn on the lights because the living room is bright enough for you to see. You know you could do it with your eyes closed anyway. You're methodical. You start with the plates, your hands work easily, even your body knows where everything goes and soon the machine is almost empty.

You're about to put the last glass in its cupboard when you hear it. You hear the heels on the parquet and your heart stop. And you know why.

You don't turn back but you can see her shadow and you know she's leaned on the doorframe. Your hands start to tremble and you shiver. You know why she's here and already you can feel your skin burn. You finally put the glass on its shelf and place your hands flat on the counter. She moves and a second later she's behind you. You smell her sickening perfume and you open your mouth but no words come out. You try again but you know it's vain. You know you've lost your tongue and strength because she does that to you and you hate it. You close your eyes and hope it'll end soon. But the woman don't move, she's waiting and it's maddening because you have other things to do. Or so you try to convince yourself because deep down you know why you're in a hurry.

Finally she touches you and your breath hitch. Her hand is on the back of your thigh. The palm is smooth and hot on your bare skin and you wish you were wearing pants. But again you know why you're not. Her hand slips under your skirt to grab your butt cheek and you know what's coming.

You clench your thighs and try to ignore the flutter in your stomach and your inner walls clench in anticipation. You hate it, hate the way your body reacts to her. You hate the warmth in your chest, the shameful joy in your heart and the eagerness in your bones.

You feel her hand caress your ass, trace the lines of your laced underwear. The touch sends shivers run on your now flushed skin. You take a deep breath because you recognize that ritual. You know what she'll do next and you make her job easier. You have school tomorrow and wish to rest before going, you remind yourself but again it sounds like a lie. You spread your legs wide enough for her hand to work between them. You hear her snort in satisfaction and you hate this. You hate it when you make her happy, when you please her but somehow you still do and you know why.

She runs her hand on your butt for what feels like years before finally slip it in your underwear. You gasp at the feeling of her against your flesh, and your walls clench again. You know what she'll do and your body can't wait and you hate that. She doesn't lose time. She runs a finger in the cleft between your butt cheeks and you repress a moan when she grazes your asshole. But she continues her exploration, sliding her fingers on your wet folds easily before reaching your clit. She presses on it, hard, and you whimper. Your body reacts on its own and your legs spread wider, begging her to continue but you know she won’t. Not today.

Her fingers go back lower and she slides them inside you. You're so wet you barely feel it and before you can find it pleasurable, the digits are out of you again. Your breath quicken and your eyes shut tighter as you know her goal. Again her finger reaches your asshole and you squeeze uncontrollably. You feel her spread your wetness on the sensitive area, drawing small circles around your tight entrance. She repeats the operation a few times and you can't wait. You raise your butt slightly and you hate yourself for wanting it.

“Relax.” she whispers and you can hear the smirk in her voice. Your hands balls into fists and you obey.

She pushes her middle finger inside you. You exhale loudly as you feel your anal muscles tighten around her. She pulls out then in again and you know it's just the beginning.

You remember the first time she stuck her fingers up your ass. You were scared, fought, but she won and impaled you and you screamed. You'll remember it your entire life you think. You'll remember the fear and shame and that you cried on your way home because it was wrong.

But you came back. You always come back. And you know why.

She curls her finger then, fighting against strong muscles and you moan.

“Let me see your butt.” She orders and you do as she says. You bent over the counter, your chest against the cold marble of the piece of furniture. You rest your forehead on the counter and your trembling hands reaches out for your own ass. You grab your but and pull, your own nails digging into your flesh. You know that even in the dim light she can see everything now and you're ashamed. You feel exposed and vulnerable but it only makes you more aroused. You know her eyes are on you, you feel her gaze burn your white skin and you whine pitifully. You want more and you hate that. But you want more, you want her to hurry and fuck your ass.

You hear her chuckle and you bit your lip when she inserts a second finger. You moan as silently as you can. You know by experience that Mr Griffin's sleep is deep so it’s the kids you worry about. But her pace picks up and your mouth gasp for air. You can't help the breathy whimpers and whines. She knows how your body likes it and you try to resist but you can't. Your muscles work on their own, sucking her in, keeping her here, inside you, where you want her.

 

She pumps in and out harder, forcing short breaths out of your dry throat. She curls and swirls and stretches you expertly and soon you're on the edge. Your hips jerks but you must stay still. You can't move or she'll stop and you want to cum. You feel your inner walls clench and suck on nothing. You feel the throbbing in your clit, the tingle in your belly and the burning at your dripping entrance but you know she won't touch you there, not this time and it frustrates you. You feel empty and lonely and you wish her body was on yours. But she knows that, keeps her distance on purpose and you're losing your mind. You want her to hug you and kiss you and make love to you but you know she won't .

She never does.

Because you're not her husband.

She spreads her fingers inside you, stretch you open and you come. All the muscles in your body clench and you stop breathing because you know that if you don't you'll scream. You see stars on your eyelids and your hands leave your butt to grip the edge of the counter. Then slowly you come down from your high. She waits for you to calm down before taking out her fingers. You stay still for a moment, you wait for your hole to recover, for the gap she opened in you to close. You came from your ass. You came from having a married woman's fingers inside your ass. It's not the first time nd it's probably not the last but you're still ashamed.

“Thank you for tonight Lexa.” the woman whispers and your tired body trembles. You hate her voice when she says that, hate the pride and mischievousness in it, hates your name on her tongue. “Here.” she says throwing a wad of cash on the counter “For this week.”

You pull up your drenched panties and ignore the unsatisfied ache between your legs. You adjust your skirt and take the money.

Your next words, you've said them an infinity of time but they still burn you throat “Thank you Mrs Griffin.”

You're the first to exit the kitchen. She follows you to the door. You turn back on the doorstep. You always turn back, it's stronger than you. You'd like to avoid those two blue eyes but you always turn back to see them stare at you in a way you still don't understand, a mix of frustration, sadness and incredible loneliness.

“See you Wednesday.” Wednesday, to take care of her kids.

You don't want to reciprocate, don't want to tell her you'll be there so you just say “Good night Mrs Griffin.” with a polite nod. Her eyebrow twitch and you know she's angry but you don't care. You just want to go home.

As usual she's leaning in to kiss you. It is quick, chaste, barely a goodbye but your lips burns where the woman's touched your own and you want more but she's already closing the door.

You ache, your heart hammering in your chest, and you tell yourself it's the last time.

But it's not and you know why.

  
***

  
You're in her house putting order in the kids' rooms when she calls you.

“Come here.” she orders, her voice low and sensual and an uncomfortable feeling tugs at your guts.

You know how this will end. But you brace yourself and try. You always try when she's not in front of you, when you stand a chance. “I can't. I have work to do.”

“I haven't paid you.”

“You can pay me next week.”

“I'll pay you twice the price if you come.”

You think.You need money you tell yourself. You always need money. Money for food. Money for the garage you're renting. Money for books. Money for college. But most of all you don't want her to be mad at you. Because she's worse when she's mad. Because she scares you when she's mad. Because you don't hate her when she's mad and you know why.

“Where ?”

She answers and you realise you know the place. You sigh and leave the house. You drive to the hotel. When you arrive, you know where the room is and take the elevator. It's always the same high standing hotel, the same room, in which Clarke Griffin and her husband make love.

You walk down the long corridor. You hear music, TV, shouting and you know other people will hear her call your name in a moment. You stop. Room 69. You roll your eyes. You always do because this number is ridiculous. You don't knock. When you open the door she is there, naked on the bed, waiting for you.

She just had sex you think. The hair on her temples and neck is damp and her skin is glistening. The air is heavy, saturated, smells like sweat. The sheets are wet and there's fog on the window. Mr Griffin was there not so long ago you realise and you feel uneasy. You pass after him.

She bites her lip and moans, squirming on the bed, urging you and you hate the fact that you know what to do.

It is rare when you see her naked so you can't help but stare. Your gaze lingers on the pale skin, the womanly curves, the pink nipples, the long blonde hair and the hands motioning for you to approach. She's 15 years your older but she's beautiful. Whatever she does to you, you can't take that from her. She's beautiful and your mouth waters. You hate that your body remembers. You hate it when it thinks on its own. You hate it when she excites you. But she does and you know why.

You put your bag down and take off your shoes and socks. You pull down your pants and unbutton your shirt. You don't want to remember the amount of time you did it to be left in only your underwear in such record time but you do and the number makes your head spin. You join her on the bed. You crawl between her widely spread legs and sit.

She's looking at you, her blue eyes hot and demanding despite the obvious exhaustion in her body. You can feel it. You can feel your body warm up under her gaze and you gulp. You know what she'll ask for and you hate that you can't wait. You hate your eagerness and her satisfied grin.

“Eat me out.” she finally orders and hundreds of tickling shudders make your body shake in anticipation.

You lean down and kiss her lower belly. It's a pull inside you, a desire you can't deny and your lips meets tortured skin. You stick out your tongue. Slowly you trace the visible scar Mia's birth left there. You love the girl. You love her and you can't hate that scar. You always enjoy touching it and you know why.

She knows you like it and let you do as you wish. It is one of the only liberties she lets you take and for once you're grateful. After a moment though you feel a hand tangle in your hair and push you lower. You groan. You don't like to be rushed when you work on her. But you comply and your lips drift lower. You kiss blonde curls and you hear her hum in pleasure.

You kiss your way down slowly. Your lips reaches her clit and you're not surprise to find it out of its hood, already erect. Mrs Griffin was touching herself waiting for you and you hate the way your thighs clench at the idea. But you know why they do.

You wrap your lips around the bundle of nerves and her hips buck. You slip your arms around her to pin her ass on the bed. You hear her growl at your strong grip and you smile in satisfaction. You haven't tasted her in a while but nothing has changed. It is not good nor bad, it is Clarke Griffin and warmth spreads in your chest. You suck hard, flickering your tongue on her clit relentlessly and you can feel her tense. She whines and moans. It sounds nice to your ears and you know why. You know what she likes so you bit down, careful not to hurt her. Her hips jerks and she calls your name. Your heart skips a beat and you moan too. You look at her as you sooth the pain with the tip of your tongue. Her eyes are shut and her jaw hangs open. You know the power she has over you but right now the roles are reversed and you can take revenge.

So you tease her.

You run your tongue on and between her folds, slowly, up and down. You alternate, left and right and you hear her breath quicken. You feel her hand claw at your scalp. It hurts but you don't stop her and you know why.

You flatten your tongue and lick as much as you can at the same time. You lap at her sex like animals lick their wounds. She calls your name again and you can't help the curl at the corner of your lips. Then your eyes widen at the foreign taste. You stop and try to pull back but she maintains you in place. You frown and look at her. She's grinning like a wolf and you understand.

“Do it.” she orders and disgust courses through you.

Your excitement is soon replaced by cold sweats as you hesitate. You stick out your tongue but you don't want to. You don't want to because her husband's cum is there, leaking out and you swallow the lump in your throat. But she won't let go. She tugs painfully at your scalp, pushing your face closer to her heat.

“Lexa...” she warns and you give up.

First it's just your lips. You let them linger there, making up your mind. Then it's the tip of your tongue. You can feel it. Salty, thick, sticky and you choke as a new wave of disgust washes through you. You take a deep breath and try to forget what that forein fluid is. But of course you can't and you cry when your tongue slides inside the woman's entrance and you know why. It is disgusting you think. Sperm doesn't bother you but it's his. It's her husband's and you hate him. You hate him because you know he's never here for Lyam. Or so you tell yourself and you know why that too is a lie.

You decide to make it as quick as possible. You're not enjoying it anymore, your tongue is acting on it's own, robotically, woking inside of the woman. You try to concentrate on the way her walls clench around your muscle, try not to imagine the tall black man taking his wife in this very room, on this very bed not an hour ago. You try but fail and you want to throw up.

You've never hated the woman more. She had never done that before. It is mean, wicked, twisted and you hate it. You're efficient though. Your tongue pumps and curls and swirls and you know in the way your name sounds on her tongue that she's close to orgasm. You add a thumb to the equation, you massage her clit and she comes an instant later.

She screams “Lexa !” and you hate it.

You drag out her orgasm until she stops moving, lying there contented and shivering, a large smile on her face. You think she'll let you go now but her grip in your hair tightens and she pulls you up. You follow her lead, surprised. It never happened before. She brings your face to hers. She looks at you and you've never seen her eyes so blue.

She kisses you. She takes your lower lip between her own and you can't help but kiss her back. You hate that it feels good and instinctive. You hate her tongue gently parting your lips, tracing the edges of your teeth and grazing the roof of your mouth. You hate it when your tongue meet hers and she closes her teeth on it, pulling it out of your mouth. You take a shaky breath. She sucks on your muscle and your mind goes blank. You forget about the man, forget about your tears and you're lost in the touch.

It's rare when she kisses you like that and you can't deny that it feels good. You can't hate it. You try but you can't and you know why.

She breaks the kiss. Her hand leaves your hair and she exhales tiredly, letting herself fall back on the mat.

“The money is on the table. Take it and leave. I want to sleep now.”

You stand. You feel the wetness between your legs. You hadn't noticed how drenched you are. You know your underwear is ruined and that soon your pants will be. You'll just masturbate at home you think and you hate knowing which film will play in your head when you get off.

You dress up and walk to the table. You see the money and there's even more than planned. You take what she had promised you but leave the extra.

You throw a last look to the bed before exiting the room. The woman lies on her back, her arms on her stomach. Her breath is steady and you think she's asleep.

“Thank you Mrs Griffin.” you can't help but say.

As you close the door behind you, your lips curls into a smile and you know why.

  
***  
One afternoon you're about to leave the Griffin's house when she returns home. You curse in your head. She's early and you know it's on purpose.

“Oh Lexa, you're still here ?” You can read her intentions on her face. She is a good actress and she could fake it better than that but she wants you to know. She wants you to imagine to burn in anticipation.

And as usual you do.

The smirk on her lips is large and your heart skips a beat as a familiar warmth spread through your body from your core to your fingertips.

“Do you have a moment ?” She asks and you know you won't go home anytime soon. You want to say no, to refuse but she's standing here before you, her icy blue eyes pinning you there. You say nothing but it's an answer for her and she smiles.

“I need your help Lexa.” She says with a smirk and you gulp because the situation is new and you don't know what to expect “I am coming back for an awful meeting. Raven pissed me off as usual, my boss scolded me for not being nicer to her and sent me home early. I'm very tired and stressed right now.” She walks to the large table in the living room. You follow her and see her take a chair, turn its back to the table. She straddles it, crossing her arms on the chair's back. “Come here.” she says and you have a bad feeling.

You approach, your body warming up with each step you take and you hate it. You stand next to her and she looks at you. Her blue eyes are dark. She bites on the corner of her lower lip and you hate when she does that. You hate what that simple act does to your body, hate the butterflies in your stomach and the growing wetness between your legs.

“Undress.” she orders and you frown and you don't want to but you do and you know why.

You start with your shirt. You love shirts. It's long to get rid of and it let you the time to prepare. But you also hate it because you know she loves it when you're slow. And yet, every time you wear shirts and you know why.

You're about to let the white material fall on the ground when she stops you “No. Keep it on.”

You don't question her and you take off your shoes and socks and pants without ceremony and you wait. She smirks. You shiver and you want to believe it's because you're cold.

“On the table.” she says and your heart forgets to beat for a moment. You know what she'll ask for and you hate that you know your body'll love it. You climb on the wooden table. You sit in front of her and you spread your legs. You hate to know that's what she wants. She rests her chin on her arms.

“Entertain me.” It's not a demand, it's an order and you submit. You run a hand on your stomach slowly and descend between your legs. You stop on your pubis and you think about what she likes to watch and you know what to do.

You'll touch yourself over your panties first. You're wearing lingerie as usual. It's green. You chose it because it matches your eyes and not because you know it's her facourite colour. Unlike her, you shave. Because she asked you to and you know it's to make you feel more naked and vulnerable and you hate it. But you still does and you know why.

You caress yourself with only two fingers to let her see and it's just a tingle at first but then you press harder on your sex and can't help the shaky breath that escapes your mouth. Her eyes are on you and you feel hot. Too hot. You wish you could find it embarrassing but you've past that point long ago and now all is left is arousing anticipation. You run your fingers up and down and the friction, the feeling of the thin material on your wet folds and clit and t feels good but not enough and it's furstrating. But again you know she loves that, loves when your features twists, unsatisfied, when she sees you fight against your needs and you hate to admit that it feels good.

You close your eyes when you feel your arousal wet your fingertips. You're drenched and now your panties cling to your folds and it gets worse. It is the worst kind of teasing and your walls clench and your clit throbs, impatient, but you can't do what you need, not yet. Your rhythm picks up and your hips starts rolling almost imperceptibly and you breath out a moan. You can be loud today. You're alone at home and you know you will be for another few hours. You have time and you're free to scream and you know she chose that moment. Sometimes she does that. Sometimes she likes to see you relax and feel at ease. You hate how well it works. You know she's looking at you, watches your every move but it works and you know why.

Your walls clenches at an hectic rhythm. You're on the edge. You open your eyes and discover that she's looking right at you. A flick of your fingers over your clit is all you need and you're coming, her gazed locked on yours and you can't avert your eyes. Your orgasm is long for some reason and your mind goes blank. You forget your hatred, forget your shame and you love those eyes. Momentarily you love the heat and dark in them and you want it to last but it doesn't and you hate it.

You come back to reality slowly, the fog in your mind dissipating progressively. You're still looking at her but your gaze goes lower and you notice how her nails dig in the skin of her arm. You know she's holding back but you know she's not a patient person and soon she can't help it. She extends her arms and reaches for your hips. You let her carress the flesh of your sides from your waist to your thighs. Your skin burns where she touches you and you hum and you hate how contented you sound even though you know why.

At some point her fingers slips under the hem of your panties. She pulls and you moan and your hips bucks at the feeling of the wet material ripping off your drenched folds. Slowly she makes it slid along your legs and you close them to help her in her task. She brings the wet material to her mouth and kisses it with a hum, closing her eyes. You think it's hot and you hate that.

“Keep going.” she says against the green lace and you tremble from head to toe.

You return to your previous position and you don't want to acknowledge the speed at which your hand goes back between your legs. You're slow. You part your wet folds with two fingers to show her. You know she likes it, that she likes to watch, to see your different shades of red and brown.

A new wave of arousal washes through you when she licks her lips, her eyes focused between your legs. You wonder if she'll be able to hold back. You remember that every time you did something similar she threw herself at you after a few minutes. Your walls clench at the memory and suddenly you want it. You want her to eat you out even if she never did and you're the one who can't wait.

You show off your unhooded clit and she bites her lip. Your breath hitches. You hate how much it excites you when she does that. You can't help it. You flicker your middle finger over your your sentive clit an your hips jerk. It's the touch you wanted, the one you refused to your body minutes ago and you moan. You do it again, and again, relentlessly and your eyes shut. Your mouth gasps for air and all you can hear is your pulse. It feels good and sends electric discharges through your body but it's not enough.

You hate that you want her mouth on you, that you're waiting for her so desperately but you hate even more the fact that she's not doing anything, that she's just rolling her hips discreetly, grinding the chair while staring at your shamelessly exposed sex.

But you can't continue like that. You slide two fingers inside and you still because you don't want to come just yet.

She snorts. She looks at you and slowly she kisses your panties again with widely parted lips and you start moving. You enter yourself slowly then curl your fingers on the way out, teasing that special spot on your front wall. You hate the way your brain works. You hate it when she licks your fluid from the green material and you press your palm against your clit imagining that it's her tongue. You thrust in rhythm with her slow movements and something boils in your veins at the lewd sight. There's a low hum in her chest every time her lips or tongue meet your underwear and you know why your walls clench whenever you hear it.

Soon you're on the edge again, and you hope she will touch you but she doesn't and you keep pumping in and out desperately, begging for release in your head.

And then she says it.

“Come for me Lexa.”

You throw your head back and come in a scream. Your hips jump and you keep moving, dragging out your orgasm for as long as you can. But seconds later you're down your high though and you hate that you know what was missing.

When you look back at her she's standing on the other side of the room, rummaging through her purse. You brace yourself and get off the table. You find it hard to stand, your head spins and your legs are shaking and you feel like a newborn fawn.

You dress up with difficulty and you shiver when your cold underwear meets your over heated crotch. You know why she had you keep your shirt on. The white material is clinging to your skin you notice. It is transluscent, drenched in sweat and you feel uncomfortable but she doesn't care because you looked hot and you know it.

You're finishing buttoning up your shirt when she comes back. She slips money in your back pocket, making it as slow and sensual as possible. Heat and frustrations are back in your body then and you wish she could touch you but she wont and you ache.

“Clean your mess. The kids will be home in no time and I don't want them to eat on this.” she points to the glistening fluid spread on the wooden table and you cheeks burns. You run to the kitchen to retreive a sponge and you hope you can make everything disappear before the return of the kids.

You hear a light, chuckle coming from the living room.

Your heart swells at the sound and you know why.

***

You click your tongue in exasperation at how carefree Mrs Griffin is. You pick up the lingerie from the corridor's ground before a kid can find it and walk to Mrs Griffin's large dressing. You're always the one putting order in the room so you almost faint when you see that all the work you did last week flew out the window. The closets and drawers are all open, overflowing with clothes that are not where they should be. Clean and worn clothes are mixed, shoes are everywhere and there's a bra on a hanger and you face palm. This woman can't keep a place clean and in order. Every week it's the same but you've got to admit that today is unprecedented.

You start picking up clothes with a sigh. You place them all in a corner of the room to take care of the shoes.

And you frown harder.

All shoes have socks in them and you doubt this happened by accident.

Suddenly, the wooden sliding door closes loudly and you jump. When you turn back she's there. She's there in a short blue satin night robe and dark laced stockings. She's there, a mischievous smirk painted on her face. You claw at whatever cloth is in your hands and there's a cold sweat in your lower back.

You feel trapped. There is no window, no other exit, just closets and drawers and socks in high heeled shoes. Your heart starts racing and your breath quicken.You know now that the underwear in the corridor was not a coincidence and that all of this is just the beginning of a new masquerade. She knows disorder annoys you. And she knows your hatred for warm socks in heeled shoes. She knows how to make you mad and you hate how well her tricks work.

Now you're pissed, you're pissed and you know you're frowning angrily because her smirk widens.

“We can't do anything now. Your husband and kids are home Mrs Griffin.” you say dryly and regret it immediately when her smirk drops and she starts walking to you, insurance leaking out of her like the sweat you feel on the nape of your neck.

She stops in front of you her face only inches from yours. “What can't we do Lexa ?” she asks with a wolfish smile and your blood starts boiling.

You hate the feeling of her breath on your face and how low and husky her voice is. You hate her strong perfume and that you can feel her body heat. But most of all you hate that you're not looking for a way out anymore.

“I'm waiting Lexa.” she adds and you gulp and avert your eyes, searching for words.

“We can't have sex.” you finally say and you hate that you said 'we' but you know why you did.

“Oh and who said I wanted to have sex ?” She grins and bites her lip. She runs a hand on your stomach “You, though...” She palms your crotch with strength and you moan in surprise. She snorts and passes by you.

You don't turn back to look at what she's doing. You face the two large boards separating you from the outside, look at the only possible exit. There's nothing between you and your freedom. It's now or never.

But you don't move and you know why.

She comes back but ignores you. She goes straight for the door and you notice the tiny stool she's holding. You raise an eyebrow, this ridiculous item will never be enough to keep the door close. No, to block it you'd need at least a chair or a bar.

But she doesn't put the stool in the guide rail like you thought she would. Instead she leans her back on the screen door and put the stool on the ground in front of her. You look at her curiously, wondering what she has in mind.

“Approach.”

You walk slowly, suspicious. “What does that mean ?” you ask and she smiles, showing some teeth.

You stand before her and she reaches for your hips. You try to ignore the burning on your skin where she touches you and you let her maneuver you. She pulls you closer and with her foot she places the stool between your legs. And she stops.

“I don't understand.” you say and you think you have never said something more ernest in your entire life.

She chuckles. She raises her leg and rests her foot on the stool. Now her thigh is pressed on your crotch and your spine straighten as you decipher what is going on. You think you know what she wants you to do but you're not sure and you just wait, hating the way the corner of her lips slowly curls into a grin.

She leans in. You wish you had the strength to pull back because you hate the way your heartbeat speeds up whenever she's so close to you. Her cheek brushes on yours and her lips grazes your ear.

“Hump.” she whispers and you shudder.

She pulls back and does it. She bites the corner of her lip and your hands slamms on the door behind her. She knows you well, knows your weaknesses and you hate it when she uses them against you. You growl. You haven't forgotten the mess she made in that dressing and you feel your anger come back. You crash your hips on hers and she whimpers. Her smug attitude wavers for a moment and you repress a smile.

You can take advantage of this.

You press your body against hers, pinning her against the wooden board and give another movement of hip. You hear the breath that escapes her throat as your chests hit each other's.

'For the socks in the shoes' you think.

You pull back a little and her eyes are feral and you know she's mad. Warmth starts to spread through your body then and you swear “Fuck.” For some reason you're pissed, angry and horny and you decide to go straight for your goal.

So you do as she asks. You rock your hips. Your jeans are tight and thick but you can still feel it. It's nothing at first, barely a tickle but you lean in to breath her perfume and soon your crotch burns. You roll your lips harder and your hands ball into fists. You know you're wet. You can feel it when you move and your pleasure increases. Your clit rubs on the front of your underwear and you moan.

You're so focused on your own pleasure you don't notice it at first. But then she moves harder against you and you realise. She's rocking her hips on your thigh in rhythm with you and you're amazed. You pull back and look at her. Her eyes are shut and her mouth is open. Her breathing is heavy and you push your body harder into hers. You give her better acces to your leg and she moans in your ear.

Soon you're in sync and you realise it's the first time you both take pleasure at the same time. A soft warmth spreads in your chest and your movements slows down. There are butterflies in your stomach but this time you don't hate it that much.

But then you hear what you identify as the door of the Griffin's room opening and you both still. Your heart freeze in your chest and you know in the way her body tenses that she's like you.

“Peter...” she breathes out silently and you pray. You pray for him to go, do whatever the hell he has to do and just go. You want to finish what you started, you want to orgasm with her and he's in the way and you hate him.

But you hear it. You recognize the squeaking of his deskchair and you curse in your head. He won't go away.

You look at the woman against you. She's stressed and insecure. You can see it, feel it, sense it because you've seen her like that before.

And you hate that.

You want to reassure her but you know you can't. Only her husband can do that. You, you can do only two things.

You can submit and make her love you.

Or you can fight and make her hate you.

You decide and you hate that you'll love what you'll do.

You kiss her. She let you lead for a blissful moment but then she pushes you back.

You insist.

Her hands finds your chest and she pushes. You smirk against her lips. You know you're stronger than her. You grab her wrists and you pin them over her head. She's fighting back but can't be loud, can't move to much or her husband may notice and she doesn't want that.

You take her lip between yours and suck. She lets out a light whine and it's satisfying. You crash your lips back together and you forces your tongue inside her mouth. And she bites.

Of course she bites.

She bites hard and it hurts but you don't care. You let your hand slide along her forearms and arms and you growl when you reach her hips. You slip your fingers under her nightdress and pull it up. You discover that the black lacey underwear you found on the ground of the corridor is what she should wear under that night robe. You groan and push into her as you grab her ass. Finally she releases your tongue and she moans in your mouth before reaching for your shoulders, pushing weakly in a vague attempt to get rid of you but she can't win like that. You keep rocking your hips, rubbing yourself on her, her leg still pressed to your crotch. You know the material of your jeans is hurting the plump flesh of her thigh but you don't care. She deserves it.

You massage her ass and feel her impossibly relax in your arms and it's new. And you feel powerful.

You kiss her jaw, her neck and for a second you hesitate. You want to bite down and mark her skin, claim her as yours. But a voice in your head tells you she's not and that she'll nnever be. She CAN'T be. Because she has a husband and she loves him.

Reluctantly you pull back and your lips return to hers. You pull her hips against yours and grinds them on your thigh. You repeat the motion until her body reacts on its own and she doesn't need your hands to masturbate on your leg anymore. Your hands trail up and you cup her breasts, pinch her nipples. Her hips buck hard against yours and her hands claw at your shirt on your sides. Her breath is uneven and she whines silently when you suck at her lower lip, that lip that makes you crazy when she tugs it between her teeth.

You love her breasts. You feel the stretch marks under your fingertips reminding you of those two kids you love so much. The tender picture vanish quickly though because now you want to thank all the parameters that made her body the way it is and her boobs so big. When you're about to thank Peter you decide you've done enough and your attention returns to the soft flesh under your palms.

You foundle them for a long moment as your mouth is devouring her neck, kissing the fragile skin from her jaw to her collarbone. You feel her shudder under your touch, her burning body pressed flushed into yours.

God you love it and you know why.

Your lips start kissing their way to the soft area under her ear and you lick. She squirms in your arms and breathes loudly in your ear. You conclude that she likes it and you can't resist. You nibble at her lobe, enjoying the way she stiffles her moans with her hand on her mouth.

And you lose.

You bite down. Hard.

She chokes on a moan and find in herself the strength to push you back. You stumble but stay on your feet. When you look back at her she has tears in her eyes, a hand on her ear and red in her cheeks and she slaps your face.

And you just smirk.

She frowns in anger and hits you again. She punches your shoulder, slaps your arm and kicks your legs. She reminds you of Mia when she's being capricious and mad at her brother.

You don't want to but you let her escape.

She exits the room as fast as she can and you hear her husband ask her what she was doing in there.

There is blood in your mouth and you know she'll punish you later. You know she'll make you suffer, she'll hit you and fuck you hard. She'll be violent and reckless but you don't care and you're happy.

 

And you know why.

 

That's because you love her. Because you just know what a caring mother and wife she is. Because you know about her terrible cooking skills and beautiful voice when she sings in her shower when she's convinced no one can hear. Because you know about her childish impatience and how hard she works.

Because you know her and how she is, you've heard about her father and what he did to her, you know her past, the darkness in her heart, the one she never shows to anyone but you.

Anyone but you. You ache when you’re with her but you're special and that's all you want.

So you forgive her. You forgive the slaps and kicks and pulls. You forgive the shameful games and harsh words. And you come back. You come back to that home you consider yours and you wish to come back for as long as you can.

Clarke Griffin will never be yours but you're hers. And it hurts. Every time you tell yourself it's the last time but it never is because you know she needs you as much as you need her.

And that's how you work. That’s your dynamics. Sometimes you wish you could go back in time to those years you were just Lexa, the young daughter of he neighbors of course but if someone ever offers you to rewrite your story, you wouldn’t change a thing.

You love the way she smiles when it's not for you. You love the pink in her cheeks when you surprise her with a kiss. You love the almost imperceptible glint of excitement in her eyes when she opens her door after you rang the bell. You love the freckles blooming on her chest in summer. You love the scars on her body, those on her wrists and the one above her crotch. You love her smooth hands and soft lips. You love blue because of her eyes. Her eyes. You've seen them dark and wet and shiny and you feel like you love them more every time they bore into yours.

You love her.

And you know why.


	2. You Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back everyone ! sorry for the late update but ugh... Life.
> 
> As promised, here is Clarke's point of view. It may change the way you see her and I'm dying to know why and how so please tell me in the comments :3
> 
> Hope you enjoy

You look at your husband.

Peter is driving as always. He is smiling.

You love his smile, love the kindness in his eyes, love his large, warm hand taking yours when you stop at a traffic light.

Or so you tell yourself.

The closer from home you get, the hotter his touch becomes. No. It's not his hand, it's yours. Yours gets colder with each second passing and soon the contact is unbearable. You hate it when your hands are cold but it's inevitable and you know why.

When finally his hand leaves yours you release a breath. You always do that. You always hold your breath when you wait for the burning of his skin on yours to stop. You know what will follow of course. Already your heart races and your blood boils in your veins.

Your body is exhausted. Peter is a gentle and caring lover but you're not 17 anymore and the realisation is stronger each and every time. You shake your head and chuckle. No matter how long has past, he's still the way too eager boy you've known your whole life. You see him raise an eyebrow but he doesn't question you and you love that. Your friends say you are lucky. That you're lucky he wants you the same way than when you were teens even after two kids and years of life together.

You are lucky. You know it. You know it and that's why it hurts so much.

You try not to think about it. You focus on how good your dinner was, on the smell of freshly washed sheets, on his lips on yours, his loving words in your ears. You had a good time. You close your eyes and relive it. You engrave it in your memory because Peter is being sent back to Afghanistan tomorrow.

You try to concentrate on him, try to tell yourself it's important but you're exiting the car already and the champagne, the candles, the 69 on the wooden door disappear and all you can think about is her and you know why.

She is waiting for you.

Your hands are cold as steel when you reach your porch. Peter is the one opening the door. You follow him inside and you feel your knees weaken, threatening to give up on carrying you. He turns to you, whispers something you can't hear under the pounding of your heart in your ears, and kisses you before climbing the stairs in silence.

Slowly, you close the door.

There is light in the living room. You hear the sound of dishes and glasses being pulled out of the machine and your heart stop. She is in the kitchen you realise. You tremble from head to toe but your steps are assured and you don't know how it's possible. Your stomach churns on itself when the only sounds you can hear are your heels on the parquet.

She knows you're here.

You're about to faint you think. Because you know what you're about to do. Because you know you won't be able to resist. Because you will sin and regret it. Because your hands are cold and you’ll hurt her and everything you love. You reach the doorframe and use it to steady yourself.

She is there. She is there, her back turned to you. You let your eyes wander, picking up endearing details that you know will lead you to hell, to the darkest dephs of your twisted mind.

You love the way she braids her long brown hair and the arch of her spine. She's wearing a shirt, as usual. It is white and thin and you can see her bra. You gulp. You'll do it, you'll do it and you know it and you know how it'll hurt. You will hurt. Your gaze drift lower and you bit your lip. She's wearing a skirt. Way too short. You're never letting Mia wear one like that you think.

She places the last glass in its cupboard and rests her hands flat on the counter.

She's waiting for you and you move. Without thinking you move and a second later you're behind her.

You see her body tense. You hesitate. You hesitate because last time you promised yourself it wouldn't happen again. You promised you'd win against the shadows in your heart, that you wouldn't harm her.

But you smirk and you know you've lost. You lose because her thighs, her butt are at arm reach and the desire inside you is too overwhelming and you are so, so weak. You can feel her body heat, can smell her light shampoo, see how her muscles tense, waiting for your touch. So you comply. You bring your hand to the back of her thigh. She is burning, melting your icy skin, but this time you don't care and you press harder. The flesh is smooth under your palm and you close your eyes. Your demon wants more, needs more.

Your hand crawl up to grab her butt. You close your eyes and hold back hum.

The flesh is soft but you can still feel the strong muscles contract underneath. Not like your own ugly ass you think. Not like the fat you've been trying to get rid off for years. She's perfect. She's perfect and her butt is perfect and you can't resist.

You move your hand, lose yourself in the touch. Your heart sinks as you realise how much you enjoy it and as usual it hurts and you know why. You carress the exposed skin and trace the lines of her laced underwear. You snort. You're never letting Mia wear that kind of lingerie either.

She has spread her legs and you're fighting your demon. You're holding back, chaining it enough not to just throw yourself at her and devour her entirely. So you force yourself. You take your time. You cup her buttcheek, weight it, squeeze it, massage it, slow yourself down.

You bite your tongue.

Now you're pissed. You're pissed because she's so tempting. You'll make her pay. She shouldn't come back, she shouldn't show up at your door with a smile only to charm you, make you sin and betray your husband. You'll punish her.

You slip your hand in her underwear. You don't lose any more time and you start a familiar game. You run your finger in the cleft between her butt cheeks. You're careful not to press on her asshole because you don't want to pleasure her. Not yet. Your hand drifts lower and you feel your own core burn with need when your fingers reach her dripping slit. You have that effect on her. Her body wants you. You hear her gasp and you smile. She wants you.

You reach for her clit. It is so hard already, you can't help but smirk. You smirk because for a moment you believe that she is the one with questionable tastes. But that's a lie and you know it.

'I made her like that.' you think.

But your fingers are wet and her hips just grind on your hand, shutting down any kind of reason. You give her what she wants and press hard on her clit and she whimpers. She spreads her legs wider and your smirk is back. She wants you, you remember.

You enter her cunt easily. Ridiculously easily. You gather as much lubricant as you can before taking out your fingers and trailing up to her asshole. You draw small circles around her tight entrance, spreading her wetness on the sensitive area. You repeat the operation again and again, maybe more than stricly necessary.

Deep down you don't want to hurt her.

But you see her raise her butt. Her impatience makes you smirk and you whisper “Relax.”

You see her hands ball into fists and she obeys. You push your middle finger inside her. You'll never get tired of the feeling. It is hot and slipery and so tight. You never thought you'd enjoy it that much the first time you stuck your fingers up her ass. The first time. You'll remember it your entire life for sure. You'll remember how much you scared her, hurt her and that you called your boss in the morning and lied. You couldn't show up at work after the horrible night you spent crying in your bed, consumed by guilt, remorse and fear. But in the end she came back and you hurt her again despite the relief in your bones and you know why.

You thrust your finger in and out a few times and you feel her relax. When you know she got used to the touch, you curl your finger and she moans. You love that moan. It's a moan that says she likes it. But it's a punishment, you remember. It's a punishment so you shame her.

“Let me see your butt.” you order with your most realistic dom tone and she does as said.

She bends over the counter, forehead against marble, and her hands reach hesitantly for her own ass. You see impatient digits dig into plump cheeks and you can't help the pride and satisfaction, how pleased your demon is. The view is priceless. She is there, all trembling muscles and weak, submitted to your every word, burning in anticipation. She whines and your demon chuckles. All you want is to fuck her ass hard and good but you can't. Not yet.

You insert a second finger and she moans. You exhale loudly, nostrils flaring as you repress a growl. You want her.

You speed up, thrusting faster, stronger. You hear her whines and tiny moans and it satisfies you. She loves it. But you know how humiliating it is for her when she orgasm from your fingers in her ass. But that's why you do it. To hurt her. Because it's a punishment.

You keep on at a steady pace, curling your fingers on their way out then impaling her again with force. She's sucking you in, her muscles closing around you, making it harder for you to move inside her. But you continue and her panting is music to your ears. Her hips jerk but you know she's holding back. Because you trained her not to move. Because when she moves you want her more, she tempts you more and you can't permit it. So she holds back and you see how hard it is in the way her muscles tense and relax under her skin, in the way she moves her hands on the counter, back and forth, like she'd do with her hips if you allowed her to. You hear her moan louder and you know she's close. She won't dare ask for more, she won't dare call your name because you've punished her enough for it those past few years. You taught her to be silent. You taught her to be silent because you love her raspy voice. Because you want her to whisper into your ears, tell you she loves you, she wants you. But it cannot happen.

It will never happen.

Because she's not your husband.

She hits the counter with her knee. She's on the edge and you know how to finish her, know her kink. You spread your fingers. It is hard when her muscles clench so hard around you but you spread her open and she comes. She stops breathing and you see her hands grab the edge of the counter. You take a look at her face and you bite your lip. Her eyes are shut, her mouth open and you want more.

You shake your head. You have to stop now. You wait for her to calm down before taking out your fingers. As soon as your hand is free, you walk to the sink and wash her off your skin. You try not to think about what you did, try not to look at her weak, trembling form but you fail and you want to cry. Because you did it again. Because you lost. Because you've made her suffer. Because your cold hand is warm from her skin and it burns. Your heart ache and you hate that you know why.  
  
So you puff your chest, gather some insurance because you need to look strong. You search through your purse and find what you need.“Thank you for tonight Lexa.” you whisper, approaching her “Here” you throw a wad of cash on the counter “For this week.”

You cross your arms and wait for her to dress up. When she's done she takes the money and you hate it when she says “Thank you Mrs Griffin.” Those words you taught her, they hurt and cut through your frozen, guilty flesh. They remind you of how good she is and how bad you are and that you're staining her.

She's the first to exit the kitchen. You follow her to the door and you hope that she won't do what she always does. You hope she won't turn back on the doorstep and look at you. But of course, of course she does. And of course her eyes, her face, her everything is perfect. Her slightly sweaty skin is glowing under the porch's light and the damp hair on her temples is curling and you want to touch. You want to cup her cheek, to rub your thumb right under those forest green eyes looking at you so kindly depite everything you've done to her. But you don't. You can't. You have to let her go and pray that she won't come back.

Even as you say “See you Wednesday.”

Even as her cold answer kills you inside “Good night Mrs Griffin.”

Even as you lean in to kiss her. It's just a peck but that's all you can give. More than that and you'll lose. More than that and you'll throw your arms around her neck and beg her to stay. So you pull back quickly and close the door.

You rest your forehead on the door and listen. You wait for the sound of her footsteps to stop before leaving for the bathroom.

You lock yourself there and cry.

And you know why.

  
***

  
Peter just left and you lay there on the double bed in room 69, staring at the ceiling. Your body is sore. You don't want to move yet but for some reason you can't sleep. There is a voice in your head telling you you should cry. But somehow you don't have the tears. There is a second one telling you to be angry. But you're not allowed to. There is a third one telling you to laugh and if you had the strength maybe you would. But no. You just lay there, listening to the ticking of the clock. You feel empty.

Empty besides that need bubbling in your veins.

You reach out for your phone and scroll through your repertory. You know her number of course but right now you need to believe you don't. Finally, your eyes find her name in the list. Well. It's not her name. You touch 'Nanny' and see the green button appear. You hesitate. You hesitate because the same voice that tells you to cry is screaming that it is wrong. But there is this other voice, your demon's voice, the one telling you to laugh and take what you need.

Your crotch, your skin, your core burn and your ice cold finger press the green phone.

“Yes ?” she says and already you smirk.

“Come here.” you order, your voice lower than you had planned.

“I can't. I have work to do.”

You bite your tongue. She rejects you. So you play dirty. You offer her the only thing she can't refuse “I haven't paid you.”

“You can pay me next week.” her voice trembles and your smirk is back because you know you won.

“I'll pay you twice the price if you come.” you offer and silence fall. You know she's trying to find how she can say no. But she won't. And you shiver in anticipation, waiting for her postive answer.

When finally she says what you want, you squirm on your bed, biting your lip.

“Where ?”

You answer her and hang up. She's coming. She's coming and you think you're happy but you throw your phone at the wall and pull at your hair and you know why.

You raise from the bed and you groan. Why ? Why can't human control objects with their minds ? You walk to the table and rummage through your bag. You take out the money you promised her. And more. Because the guilty part fighting your demon tells you to.

You go back to the bed and collapse on the now cold wet sheets. You grimace. The feeling is far from enjoyable and you almost feel bad for the people who'll clean the room when you leave. You settle your head back onto the pillows and you wait.

The ticking makes its come back in your ears and you don't like it. You don't like it because its the only sound and it reminds you how alone you are. So you try to think about something else. Someone else. And the first crossing your mind is Lexa.

You think about what you'll have her do to you and your skin burns again. Usually you should feel remorse but not today. Today you're eager to slip your hands between your legs to tease your clit thinking about someone else than Peter. But it's his fault.

You masturbate. You hadn't done it in a while but it fells less good than you remember. You know you have a golden fish memory but it's still weird so you wonder. And then you realise. Your hands are cold. As usual. Like everytime you're about to hurt her.

You click your tongue and stop. You sigh. You know you're impatient. You know even your kids are better at waiting than you are.

When you hear the doorknob turn after five minutes that felt like centuries, you smile.

Lexa is here. You're done waiting. She'll content you, please you. But there's a lump in your throat and you know why.

You look at her and bite your lip. You moan because you want her to hurry. Hurry and please your demon, freeing you from the darkness consuming you. Because of Peter.

She walks in the room and pauses for a minute. She's staring at you. She's staring at you and you blush. Your skin burns under her darkening gaze but your cheeks flush in embarrassment. It's rare when you show her your tortured body. Your body with its useless fat and stretch marks, its tired skin and old bones.

When you can't stand it any longer you motion for her to join you and she let her bag fall on the ground. You're amazed at her apparent eagerness. You even fear she will tear through the material of her shirt that, apparently, if her frustrated sigh is any indication, sports too many buttons to her liking. You resist the urge to smile and spread your legs. When she's finally in underwear, she almost jumps on the bed and settles between your legs.

You look at her, letting your eyes roam over her body, shamelessly staring. Her blush and bobbing throat makes you grin in satisfaction.

“Eat me out.” you finally oder and you see her take a deep breath before leaning down and kissing your lower belly.

And your heart stop. She always does that. She loves it but you hate it. You hate it because it reminds you of what a terrible mother, what a horrible human being you are for giving birth to a child to keep the nanny around for a couple more years. It reminds you that you're nothing but a fucking married bitch that couldn't let go of a woman, no, a girl fifteen years younger than her.

But you let her do as she pleases. You let her because you remember her hands stroking your round belly, her soft whishpers above Mia's craddle, the sleepless nights she endured when you couldn't. You remember that your daughter's first words were ‘mama’ and ‘essa’, that it could be her daughter too and the thought bleeds you as much as warms you and you know why.

After a moment, you decide she's taking too much time and you grab her hair and guide her lower. You hear her groan and she glares at you before finally kissing her way down. You hum, pleased and you forget about your pain, forget about your anger, forget about your shame and moral and just enjoy the touch. Because her lips are on you, where you want them and it feels good.

She reaches your clit and wraps her lips around it in a way nobody but her can and your hips buck. She slips her arms over your hips to pin you to the bed and you growl. You don't like it when she stills you, when she makes you feel like she's stronger. But she doesn't give you the time to think. She flickers her tongue over your sensitive clit and you fist at the sheets, tightening your grip in her hair. You gasp, and moan as your walls clench. She sucks and laps and your eyes shut, hot waves of pleasure coursing through you. But she knows you well, knows what you like and she bites down. Your breath catch in your throat and your back arches from the bed as your hips jerk again. It hurt and you feel bad for loving it. But what you love even more is the way she runs her tongue around your clit apologetically, drawing small circles, soothing the pain in your heart and body. Because that's what Lexa does.

You want her inside you already, want her to fuck you with her tongue. You want to come from her head between your thighs. You want to come screaming her name like you wish to do when you're in your queen sized bed with your hand at your crotch or when Peter is filling you, making your body whole but your pleas empty.

But she knows it and teases you. She runs her tongue between your folds excruatingly slowly, up and down and left and right, careful not to enter you, not to give you what you want and it frustrates you. But you smile. You smile because you haven't felt that good in what feels like years. You call her name as you feel your walls suck on nothing, begging to be filled. Your skin burns and you want her to touch you, you want to plea, to beg but you can't because if she does you'll lose against the voice in your head screaming you you want her to make love to you and forget your duty. And in that moment, you almost give in. She flattens her tongue on your sex and laps and you start “Lexa- !” But you stop yourself. You think about your kids and you shut down the voice.

But then, then you think about Peter and you're pissed. Your anger returns in your body and you grit your teeth. Peter that fucked you here not two hours ago after what he did. You push Lexa's head harder against you but she resists and you realise she has stopped. You look down at her and you see her wide, disgusted eyes. Why would she-

And then you understand.

And you grin. You hate it but you grin. You grin at the cruel irony of it. Peter is still inside you. She is between your legs but he's still there. After what he did to you, to your family, something you're not allowed to blame him for but still do.

The horror in her eyes pleases your demon but you ache. You ache but you need her to fuck you. More than ever you need to break her because if you don't you'll break someone else, someone you love, someone that could never be repaired, someone that could be your child.

“Do it.” You order in a voice you wish wasn't yours.

She resists, looks scared and disgusted and your heart swells and you want to cry but you need her to do it. You need her to wash you, wash you from your husband because you heard about that girl he fucked when he was drunk the other night. Because he confessed with tears in his eyes that it wasn't the first time. Because he was your lighthouse, the one you trusted the most and he betrayed you. You know you've done worse but it doesn't lessen the awful feeling of betrayal.

And you need her to take it away.

You tug at her scalp and warns “Lexa...”

And she complies. As always she complies and you ache. And you know why.

She's timid at first, just her lips then the tip of her tongue and you see the tears on her cheeks when she penetrates you.

You need it. You need her.

You let your head fall back on the pillow and whine because despite everything, it feels good. She knows you, knows your weak points. She works inside of you expertly and soon your orgasm is close. You claw at her scalp as you struggle to breath. You feel your walls flutter and you're about to come. When she rubs her thumb on your clit she throws you over the edge and you scream her name.

Your mind goes blank and you stay out for a moment. You feel a smile spread on your face as a tear run quickly from the corner of your eye to your damp hair. When you've caught your breath, when you're back to reality but still in the bliss preceding the breakdown you know will strike, you pull her up. You bring her face to yours and her green eyes are both angry and surprised as they look into yours.

You can't reason in your state and you take advantage of it.

You kiss her. And your hand is warm in her hair.

You take her lower lip between yours and she kisses you back. Her lips are soft on your own and you melt because you hadn't felt like that in a while. You have the lead and parts her lips with your tongue. You take your time, enjoying the wet plump flesh, ignoring the salty taste reminding you that Peter is there too.

You push your tongue inside, trace the edges of her teeth, graze the roof of her mouth. You wait for her tongue to glide on your own to close your teeth on the tip, pulling the strong muscle out of its cage. She breathes loudly and you can hear a stiffled moan in the back of her throat. You smile. You suck at her tongue, caress it with your own and she hums.

But then your eyes flutter open as you realise what is happening. You can't, you remember and you break the kiss. You fall back on the mat and sigh, exhaling the remnants of your dying anger, breathing in the shame and guilt that you know will destroy you when she'll be gone.

“The money is on the table. Take it and leave. I want to sleep now.” you say reluctantly, closing your eyes not to see her beautiful caring ones.

She stands. You feel empty without her weight on the mattress. You wish she could stay, lie down beside you and tell you she loves you but that's what Peter does. That's what Peter, your husband is supposed to do.

The memory of him on his knees, begging you to forgive him flashes into your mind and you want to cry. You ache because of his betrayal and you ache because now you know how it feels like and you don't want to do that to him. You can't do that to him, to the father of your kids, to the man that made you said yes to, to Peter that made you happy.

You hear her open the door and you think she's gone when you hear “Thank you Mrs Griffin.”

She closes the door and you sit up and sob. You bring a hand on your mouth to muffle the sound but you can't hold it back. You sob like a kid as hot, thick tears escape your tired eyes. You bleed internally stabbed by your guilt and regret and your demon is not here to give you the fake strength you need.

It always ends like that, and you know why.

  
***

  
You slam the door of your car. Stupid Raven. Why ? Why does she always NEED to argue with you in front of your coworkers ? You're always right of course but still, she keeps trying and you're seriously tired. Yes that's it. Raven is tiring. Always fighting back when she should shut the fuck up.

You rummage through your purse as you walk to your porch. Something red catches your eyes on your right and you stop.

Lexa's bicycle ?

You frown. Why is she still here ? You look at your clock and you understand. You're early. Your heart sinks at the realisation that maybe she always leaves just before you come back to avoid you. But it's normal you think. You hurt her, it's normal for her to stay away from you.

You'll just say hi quickly and run to your room. You'll lock yourself and work. You won't hurt her today. You don't want to but it's hard to hold back and you know why.

You brace yourself and open the door. You're silent for some reason. You discard your coat and purse in the entry and you walk to the living room.

She's there, and stops in her tracks and she does something.

She frowns.

She's not pleased to see you.

While you're hurt your demon is pissed, angry and you smirk. You don't want to but your back straightens, your chin lifts and you smirk. “Oh Lexa, you're still here ?” you say, not bothering to fake surprise. You see her gulp and freeze. Warmth slowly leaves your hands and you ask “Do you have a moment ?” She doesn't answer and you smile victoriously because you know you've won.“I need your help Lexa.” you confess and there's a truth in it that bleeds you deep inside but you don't want to think about it and smirk to give yourself some fake confidence. “I am coming back from an awful meeting. Raven pissed me off as usual, my boss scolded me for not being nicer to her and sent me home early. I'm very tired and stressed right now.” that is true but fuck just voicing it makes your anger sip back in your flesh. You grit your teeth as you walk to the large table. You have an idea. And idea to please your demon without touching her. Her skin won't melt your cold hands today.

You grab a chair and turn its back to the table. You straddle it and cross your arms on the edge of its back. “Come here.” you say and she approaches you with careful steps.

When she's beside you, you look up to her and you can't believe how black her eyes are. You hate that. You hate that because you know she can't control her body, that she's not like that because she wants you but because you taught her body to obey you.

Still. You bite your lip. Because despite the strong now familiar guilt shaking your bones, you can't wait. You can't help but want her to hurry, want her to submit, want her and you know why.

“Undress.” you order and she frowns but comply and you can't repress the hot wave of satisfaction washing through you.

She starts with her shirt and your mouth waters with each button pushed out of its slit. You love when she wears shirts. Because it suits her, her personality, and gives her that serious vibe you love so much. She's about to let the white material fall on the ground when you change your mind and stop her “No. Keep it on.” She doesn't question you and takes of her shoes and pants quickly, leaving her in only her shirt and underwear. Her green lingerie.

She waits for your order and your demon smirks. You trained her well. “On the table.” you finally say when you see goosebumps bloom on her skin. She climbs on the table and sits in front of you, facing you, spreading her legs for you to see. A shiver runs down your spine and your excitement grows slowly, shutting down the voice in your head telling you there's still time to stop this.

You rest your chin on your arms “Entertain me.” you order and she starts running a hand on her stomach. Slowly she descends between her legs and you know she's never fast because you don't know how to wait.

She pauses for a moment and your heart stops in your chest at the thought that maybe she won't do it. When she starts to touch herself over her panties, you relax. Your eyes follow her every movement and you take some time to decipher the intricate patterns of her lacy underwear. You see leaves and other vegetal abstract symbols. You like it and it suits her. Everything suits her and you can't lie, you're jealous sometimes.

She's using only two fingers and you can see everything. You see how she runs her nails and fingertips on the green material before pressing hard on her clit and you take notes of what she likes. You let your eyes wander on her body though and your nails dig into the skin of your arm everytime your eyes fall on the widely open shirt, uncovering a shoulder. It's your kink. You never understood why but this shirt thing...

You notice how hard her nipples are already, even under her bra and the sheen layer of sweat slowly appearing on her skin. You notice the way her jaw tenses and relaxes, her eyes shut and knitted eyebrows.

She's beautiful.

It's not often when you see her taking pleasure and despite the frustration you feel bubbling inside of you you enjoy the sight and you know why.

Your eyes fall back between her legs and you raise an amused eyebrow at how drenched she is already. You lick your lips and wish to taste it but no. You have to avoid it at all cost. You have to avoid tasting her, taking the risk to enjoy it and forget that she's not Peter.

You know the actual touch cannot possibly satisfy her, that the friction is not enough, not what her body demands so you're not surprised when she picks up her pace. Her hips start rolling and she breathes out a moan you wished had came out louder. For once you're alone at home and you're glad. You want her to scream, want to hear her voice, want her to say your name. No. Not your name. She can't say your name, you forbid her. You clench your jaw as you uncontrolably imagine how your name would sound on her tongue.

Her heavy breathing takes you back to reality and you notice her open mouth and red cheeks, her irregular rhythm, the shudders shaking her body and you know she's close. You gulp when she looks down at you and her green eyes momentarily bore into yours. They're dark but there's a spark somewhere deep inside that you don't want to decipher. A second later she throws her head back as she comes and you resist the urge to stand and close your mouth on the delicate skin of her bobbing throat. She makes things hard though because she moans out her orgasm for way too long and you have to dig in your arms with your nails to repress your needs.

After what feels like hours she calms down though and you finally notice the tingle in your forearms. You release your grip and relax, letting your eyes wander. You take in the view of her now transluscent shirt clinging to her skin, her glistening waist and belly and her drenched underwear.

Fuck.

The lacey material sticks to her slit in the best way possible and you want to see what it barely hides. Before you can even give it a thought, you extend your arms and your hands rest on her hips. It's not good you think, you promised yourself you wouldn't touch her, you want to stop but already your hands are caressing her sides, the wet skin of her waist and you know why.

You run your palms on her inner thighs. Your reward is a pleased hum that makes you shiver. You'll lose. Before your demon can make a move, you slip your fingers under the hem of her panties and pull. Her hips buck and you bite your tongue and force yourself to ignore it. You slid the wet cloth along her legs and your frustrated demon brings it to your mouth. You won't touch her but you can't resist your desire to taste her.

Your lips kiss the green lace and your eyes roll back in your skull as you hum because it's been centuries since you've last had her on your tongue. It's hot and salty and Lexa. When you look up she's staring at you expectantly and you blush for some reason.

“Keep going.” you say and your voice is weaker than intended but you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when her hands goes back between her lewdly open legs so eagerly. Not when you have such a great view of her glistening sex. Not when she parts her folds with her fingers for you so see.

You lick your lips. You can't tear your gaze away from what you want so badly and shit you'll lose. She did that in the past and you lost every single time as your childish self coudn't hold back from reaching out and fuck her hard.

She pushes her hand aside slightly and you can't help but bite your lip when you noticed her engorged clit. You want it. You want to touch her, eat her out for hours, for all the times you've wanted it but couldn't.  
She flickers her middle finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves and her hips jerk. She repeats the motion relentlessly and your hips roll slightly with every strangle sound escaping her parted lips.

Soon she can't take it anymore and slides two fingers inside herself. You see her close her eyes and bite her lips and you snort. You're not one to talk but you remember every time she claimed being patient and you can't help it. Right now you can't resist the need to tease her and suddenly you remember the weapon in your hand. You bring her underwear to your lips and kisses it slowly, mouth open, as you look right into her eyes. You see her chest heave and she starts moving. But it's not enough because her rhythm is too slow for your liking so you stick out your tongue and run it flat on the lacey underwear. You see the way she presses her palm against her clit and you know she wishes your head was at her crotch. And fuck you couldn't agree with her more.

But no, you have to resist and as much as it's torturing the both of you, licking the ruined material is all you can do. So you lap. You run your tongue on her panties, lick it clean, tracing the intricate vegetal paterns. It's exhilarating. Despite your frustration, you can't help but enjoy it. You know your own underwear and pants are ruined and you may need to burn them when you're finished. You want to touch yourself and release the pressure that has been building up in your lower stomach and satisfy your clenching, burning insides.

Something is missing though. You want something more and when your eyes roll up to look at her face you understand.

“Come for me Lexa.” you say and your voice is husky, heavy, meaningful.

A strangle moan escapes your throat when she comes and you're grateful her scream covers the shameful sound. Her hips jump as she pumps in and out of her and you can't take it anymore. You have to do something.

You stand as fast as you can and stumble, losing your balance as you notice how strained the muscles in your thighs were. You body shakes as your weak legs miraculously carry you to your entry. You retrieve your purse and goes back to the living room. You rummage through your bag, searching for the wad of cash you always have prepared for her.

When you go back to her she is buttoning her shirt. The thin material is transluscent and you feel like you're losing again. You slip the money in her back pocket and you can't resist, your demon's hand is slow and sensual and you're glad there's her pants between your skins.

You tear your hand away from her finally and brace yourself as you order “Clean your mess. The kids will be home in no time and I don't want them to eat on this.” You point at the table and her reaction is just the best. Her cheeks flush furiously and she runs to the kitchen.

You chuckle. You're proud of yourself.

You're happy but your hear sinks and you know why.

  
***

  
You fought with Peter and you're pissed. You're angry and your demon is too. You want to break something, NEED to break something. You go hide in your closet, like you do everytime you feel like you're gonna explode.

You look around and everything is in order and it is so Lexa...

But it's not you. You're chaos and violence and this closet is yours.

So you do what you do best : you mess things up. You mess things up in Lexa's order like your dad messed up with you when you turned twelve because you looked so much like your dead mother. You mess things up like war is messing up with your husband's head. You mess things up unlike your beloved son messed up when he got expelled for punching his bully in the face.

And suddenly you have an idea.

You let your shoes aligned but take the time to slip socks inside of them. You know she hates that and you're thrilled. You set up your crime scene, you prepare the sick play that your demon wrote in your head.

When you're satisfied, you get out and like the hunter you settle your trap. You let your underwear on the floor of the corridor you know she'll soon cross by. You hide in the closest room, Mia's room and you feel like a mischievous kid again.

You observe from your spot, alert, ready to jump on your lacey underwear at any sign of Peter, Lyam or Mia. But the one you're waiting for is Lexa and your heart beats fast. You're way too excited for a grown up woman and you curse at how childish you are.

Soon you hear the steps you learned to crave in the stairs though and you freeze. You stop breathing and fight hard against yourself not to yip in joy when she clicks her tongue and bends down to retrieve your black lace.

You see her enter your room and you wait a moment before following her. You slip inside your dressing and close the wooden sliding door loudly. She's in the middle of the room and she turns back at you at the sound. You see her eyes widen and take in your clothing. You smirk because you've chosen to put on one of your favourite night robe. It is a light blue satin dress, short enough to show the lacey hem of your way too expensive black stockings. Well. Her face is worth it though.

She's angry you notice. Her body is tense, her brows furrowed and her hands clench around- The fuck is she doing to your lovely silky scarf !?

You throw her your most burning glare but she ignores it as her eyes roam all over the room in search of some kind of exit. She won't find one though and your demon laughs in anticipation. When she looks back at you she looks pissed beyond measure and her voice is low when she says “We can't do anything now. Your husband and kids are home Mrs Griffin.”

She dared. She dared refusing herself to you and your smirk drops but your footsteps are assured when you walk to her. You straighten your back and make yourself as tall and strong and intimidating as you can. You stop only when your face is inches from hers and smile.“What can't we do Lexa ?” you ask, your tone dripping pride and power and you see her shudder.

Her eyes lost into yours are more than satisfying and you have to fight against yourself not to wrap your hands around her throat and pull her into you, joining your lips.

The wait is excrutiating so you add “I'm waiting Lexa.”

“We can't have sex.” she says and something sinks inside you and you know why.

But you gulp and brush it off saying “Oh and who said I wanted to have sex ?” You grin and bite your lip to refocus. You're here to have her fuck herself on your thigh as you watch because you're angry at Peter.

It doesn't make any sense but whatever, you run a hand on her stomach, descending slowly. You grab her crotch roughly, saying “You, though...” and she moans in surprise.

It's working.

You snort and pull back to pass by her. Your eyes search around the room for your tiny yellow plastic stool you know is somewhere in this mess. You find it under your blue leather jacket. You take it and refrain from running back to the door and have her do what you want. Instead you take long, calculated steps and when you pass by her again, you feel her eyes on you. You ignore her though and concentrate on your goal.

You turn, lean your back on the screen door and put the stool on the ground in front of you.

The expression on her face is priceless and it's a challenge not to smile when you order “Approach.”

She obeys hesitantly and asks “What does that mean ?”

When she's finally in front of you, you reach for her hips. You pull her closer to you and with your foot you place the stool between her feet. You look at her expectantly and you want to laugh. You've never seen her brows knitted so tightly in confusion and for some reason right now you find it hilarious.

“I don't understand.” she sais and you can't help the chuckle that escapes your throat.

You raise your foot slightly to rest it on the stool and god you can't wait for what you know will come. When your thigh makes contact with her crotch, you see her eyes widen in understanding. Her entire body tense and she licks her lips. Her eyes turn dark with lust so fast for a moment you think she won't wait for your order.

But you’ve trained her well.

She's just looking at you expectantly and you grin. You love when she waits for your command and your demon is extatic.You lean closer to her and bring your lips to her ear. You can't help the way your lips curl and how the single word roll on your tongue as you whisper “Hump.”

You pull back and bite your lip when your eyes meet hers again. Her pupils are blown up and there's something menacing in them, a predator glint that sends hundreds of shivers run down your spine. She growls like an animal and slams her hands on the wooden board behind you.

And a tsunami of arousal washes through you, shaking your body, your entire being, your soul.

Something inside you screams that it won't end up well, that the situation is dangerous, that you'll regret it but you can't move. You're petrified as your body aches for hers and her dark gaze is locked onto yours.

She clashes your hips together and a whimper escapes your mouth. She's angry at you, wild and you're scared. You don't know what to do. You know you should stop her, end it here and there but you don't and you know why.

Your heart pounds in your ears and your mouth is a desert when she pushes herself against you. She rocks her hips, forcing the air out of your lungs.

And you realise. You realise she's trying to take the lead, the lead you can't let her have. When she pulls back you glare at her in warning.

“Fuck.” is her answer.

She starts rolling her hips then, finally complying, obeying you and you relax slightly. You look at her face, inches from yours. Her eyes are shut and she breathes loudly through her nose. You see the anger coursing through her veins in the way her jaw locks and the muscles in her neck tense. Again something tugs at your guts, telling you to stop but you can't reason anymore. Not when she leans in closer and your nose is flooded by her discreet scent of coconut and your crotch is burning, begging for contact.

She moans in your ears and your hips jerk forward. You shudder at the delighting effect the simple motion had on you and can't help but move again. Soon you're both grinding against each other in almost silent. Your insides start to clench and you curse in your head. It wasn't planned.

But you can't stop. The feeling is too good, your heart beats too fast, your body had craved it for too long.

She gives a rough movement of hips, parting your legs wider, pressing her thigh harder into your heat and you moan. You want her to do it again but you hear the door of your room gnash and you both froze.

Your heart stops in your chest as you recognize the heavy footsteps. “Peter...” you state and suddenly you're deaf. What if he enters here ? What if he hears a noise and discovers everything ? What if he wants to leave you ? What if your children hate you ?

Your body starts shaking and your heart hammers in your chest. Suddenly you're back in your closet, not this one but the one you used to hide in when your dad was looking for you, when he was finally drunk enough to be willing to play with you. Back in that closet when you wished for him not to find you and you want to puke.

You're seing him open the door of your safe space when a soft feeling on your lips brings you back to reality.

In an instant, your dad has disappears, replaced by Lexa. Lexa and her lips on yours. She's kissing you. You lose yourself in the touch for a moment, let it ground you, tie you to the present time in which that man died and your caring husband is in your room, your kids playing in the garden and Lexa...

And it hits you. She has the reins now and it's bad.

You try to push her back but she forces harder into you.

She's stronger than you and you know it. You know she could win against you because she is a woman now, unlike the girl she as when everything started. You have to make her believe you're the strongest, make her submit because you know that if you lose, it'll be the end. If you lose and she owns you, you will never be able to go back, never be able to deny your own pleasure. If you lose you'll beg for more and forget the rest, Mia, Lyam and Peter. You'll forget you'll married to Peter.

So you fight back.

You put your hands on her chest and push as hard as you can but your arms are weak. You feel her smirk against your lips and grab your wrists to pin them above your head. You squirm and try to free yourself but she's too strong and you want to cry. You want to cry because you're losing control and you don't know how to handle it.

She takes your lips between hers and sucks hard and you whine. You're stressed as fuck, scared and insecure but it feels good, feels real. When she pushes her tongue into your mouth though, you remember why you can't let her and bite down.

You know you're hurting her and copper coats the walls of your mouth but it doesn't stop her.

She runs her hands along your arms, from your wrists to your hips. There, she flatens her hands on your flesh and slips them under your night robe. She caresses you there for a moment before grabbing your ass in a groan. It sends a hot wave of arousal course through you and you release her tongue.

You have to stop this.

Your trembling hands reaches for her shoulders and you try to push her away. But of course you fail. You fail because for once your demon is asleep, because deep inside you don't want to win and you know why.

She continues her slow but strong pace, riding your leg while pressing hers between your thighs. She massages your ass and as you feel her breath on your neck, you give up. Your eyes rool back in your skull and your hands on her shoulders are pulling her closer.

She kisses your jaw and as you feared, you forget that your husband is just meters away. You feel her lips melt your skin as they touch your neck in wet but soft touches. It's the first time she does that. It's the first time you let her do that.

She pulls back and you repress a whine at the loss, at the cold feeling of nothing against your now overheated skin. But her lips are back on yours not a second later and your hands clench on her shoulders as you try not to moan in delight. She moves your hips, drags your bare core on her thigh and you exhale loudly. You start riding her leg franctically then and you're enjoying the friction of her jeans on your dripping slit more than you thought. You're so drenched the once rough material is now slippery and you feel blood creep to your cheeks at the thought.

You feel her hands leave your ass to trail to your boobs. She cups your breasts and your hips buck when she pinches your nipples. You want to scream but something in the back of your head makes you stiffle all the lewd sounds threatening to break free from the back of your throat. Your hands lower and you grab her shirt as she sucks at your bottom lip.

Her hips calm down and she concentrates on your chest. You smirk. You've always known from the way she looks at them that she loves your breasts. Your kids did a lot of bad things to your once beautiful body but regarding your boobs, pregnancy had its perks.

She massages them, weights them in her palms for an excrutiatingly long moment as you keep rubbing yourself on her. Her mouth returns to your neck and and it's nothing more than messy open mouthed kisses, teasing teeth and adventurous tongue. You press your body into hers, lean into the touch. She licks your soft spot under your ear and you squirm as your hands tug at her shirt. She just found your weak point and is way too experienced at using it already. She takes the lobe of your ear in her mouth and suck, nibbles and you have to press one hand hard on your mouth not to moan out your pleasure.

When she bites hard in your flesh, the pain brings you back to reality and you realise what is happening. You push at her and she steps back. Your vision is blurry, your heartbeat hectic and your breath uneven. You bring a hand to your ear and massage the throbbing flesh, crossing your fingers for it not to bruise because if it does, Peter will see. Because if it does you'll be hers. Because if it does you'll lose everything.

Out of reflex and before you can even think about it twice, your free hand fly to her face and you slap her cheek.

And she just smirks.

You understand the purpose in everything she did, that she made it her own personal revenge and it hurts. It hurts so much you hit her again. You punch her shoulder, slap her arm, kick her legs as you fight to keep your thick tears in your eyes.

When your feel like you've hit her enough, you turn and open the door. You run outside and barely register your husband talking to you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and sit on the toilets. Your tears finally break free and you sob hard. You do your best to stay silent but it's hard as the world spins around you, as the fictional bubble of safety you had created is crackling, shattering.

It won't happen ever again.

You'll fire Lexa.

Never again will you open your door to her.

But you look at your hands, your cold hands that hurt her again. They're throbbing and tingling from hitting her so much, burning from touching her.

It's not over.

 

And you know why.

 

That's because you love her. Because you just know what a hard worker and good nanny she is. Because you know about her undying love for bugs and spiders that make you shudder but smile tenderly when you see her burry her ‘friends’ when they die. Because you know she is the adult you'll never be despite her young age and that your kids probably know her better than they know their father.

Because you know her and how she is, you were there when her last parent died already years ago, you were there to see her crumble and fall then rise. You know her weaknesses and her strength and her love for your children. She’s seen the darkness in you but accepts it, endures it, she is still there.

And she's perfect and what you need. But you can't allow it.

So you can't help it. You can't help the slaps and kicks and pulls. You can't help the shameful games and harsh words you use to repel her, push her away from you because you blame her for being what you want. But she comes back. She comes back to your house, your family and you wish for her to stop when you just know you she's what you need.

Lexa Wilde could be yours but you cannot be hers because Peter is your childhood friend, your husband the father of your children and you said yes to him. But it hurts. It hurts because you know you'd never be able deal with your life and demons without her.

So that's how you work. That’s your dynamics. You often wish she had never appeared in your life, wish you could go back in time to those years she was just the young daughter of he neighbours, wish to rewrite the story and not hire her as your nanny when she was nothing but a child that wanted money to buy books.

But now she's here and you hate that you love her. You hate the kindness in her eyes when she looks at your kids. You hate it when she ignores your rude attitude to surprise you with a gentle kiss that makes you fall for her more. You hate the overwhelming excitement in your bones when you open the door after she rang the bell. You hate the way her skin tan in summer and fit her so well. You hate the scar above your crotch, indelible proof of the bad mother she made of you. You hate her burning skin and strong muscles. You hate that you had never loved green before your eyes met hers. Her eyes. You've seen them sad and pained and caring and you hate that you love them more every time you can't help but drown into them.

You love her.

And you know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tell me what you thought about this chapter guys o/ (this chapter alone. if you want to leave a comment about the entire work, do it on the next chapter)


	3. Author's note

Hi guys o/ 

I told you earlier that this fic was an experiment. 

A lot of my writings can be considered extreme and disturbing but that's because I enjoy seeing people's reactions. In this fic, I will as you guys a question, the question I asked myself and asked to my friend while writing this fic. (PS : It will be better to answer those questions BEFORE you read the epilogue.

 

A lot of people would qualify their feelings for each other as "wrong". One is cheating on her husband with the nanny of her kids and the other keeps coming back to the woman who hurts her.

Would you call their feelings wrong ? Would you say it is wrong for Clarke to desire Lexa and Lexa to forgive Clarke ? Do you consider this a love story ? Would you stop them if you could ?

 

I would appeciate it if you could take a few minutes of your time to answer those questions. There are no good nor bad answers but as someone with a weird twisted mind I would like to see if normal people see things the way I do. I'm very interested in how people react to my writings and especially this one so... Please leave a comment :3


	4. You love her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is guys ! Here is the little bonus I promised you. Hope you'll enjoy it :3

“Come sit with us !” You hear Lyam say as you enter the living room.

You look at her. She smiles at you so you put down the grocery bag you're holding on the coffee table and you join her and the kids on the ground. Just like them you sit cross legged. You have Lyam on your right and Mia on your left and it feels good because you can't remember the last time you've sat like that together. Let alone with her in front of you.

“So ? What's the game ?” you ask Mia with an enthusiastic smile.

“The Commander and the Sky Princess !” Mia answers, raising her tiny fist in the air.

You frown but smile. You've never heard of this and you wonder if you've finally become too old for this. “The game of who and who ?”

“The Commander and the sky Princess !” Mia insists as if you hadn't heard the first time. Well, it' your fault too you think. Your question was everything but clear.

“What is that ?” you try again.

“It's a roleplay she invented, based on characters from a show I just started watching.”

A roleplay huh ? “And who might we be ?” You ask Mia with all the mischievousness you can afford, striking right back from the dephs of your seemingly so far away childhood.

“I'm Octavia, the Princess's friend and Lyam is Bellamy, my brother.” Mia looks from left to right a few times and claim “And Mommy is the Princess and Lexi the Commander.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you see her avert her eyes. You gulp as you're scared to ask “And what are we supposed to do ? What's the story ?” It's a roleplay, there must be a story right ? It's not that you want to know but you need to be aware of the plot to play right ?

Mia's face lights up beyond measure as she does what she loves the most.

“It's the story of a Princess who fell from the sky and the Commander of the grounders. One day the Princess fight the Commander and they fall in love.”

Your eyes widen as you look at her but she's somewhere else. Did she know that ?

You turn to Lyam and brace yourself, you don't want your voice to fail you as you ask Lyam “Is that the real story ?”

He smiles mischievously and you know he's up to something because that smile is the one he was always giving you when you asked him who ate the cookies.

He leans closer to you and whispers “Well that's not false at least. Of course it's a lot more complicated and I eluded the deaths and pain and alliances and betrayal but... Yeah, the part of the story she said is true. I kept only the good parts.” He winks and turn back at his giggling sister.

Something sinks inside you at the accuracy of it all and you ache. That game is not funny.

“Why is Lexi the Commander and mommy the princess ?” she asks and your eyes snap back at her in shock. You wish for her to look at you, for her to give you an indication of what is happening in her head, even the tiniest nod, anything to help you comprehend where all of this is going.

“Because mommy is Lexi's Princess.” Mia states and you think you'll faint. Your head spins and you're pretty sure your pulse would break even the toughest tensiometer.

This is too much. All of this is too much for your heart and soul and body, too overwhelming, too strong. You don't know what to think, don't want to imagine what your next encounter with her will be like, wonder if the kids have any idea of what they're saying, if this will change things or not, how she will react and you fear future.

And you hear it.

Dinstinctly you hear a snort.

You know from whom it came out but you still check Mia's confused face and Lyam's smiling one before you finally allow your scared eyes to meet hers. She's hugging her sides with an arm while a hand is on her mouth. You see her body convulse as she's obviously holding back a laugh and you're lost.

You give up on understanding and wait for her to explode, which, if the red on her cheeks you know are burning as much as yours, should happen fast.

A weak “You ok ?” from Mia is all she needs.

She laughs loudly, freely, mouth wide open, unstopable air coming out of her lungs in short, ragged breaths shaking her body and yours.

Her laugh.

You hadn't heard it in what feels like centuries and you wish you could kick yourself right now for having forgotten how much you love it.

Soon you feel your own features twitch incontrollably, your mouth curling into a smile you know will destroy the muscles in your cheeks. Your voice echoes hers as you start laughing.

You're lost in the moment and it seems that you can't stop. Even when the tears of joy in your eyes turn into something more painful and bitter as you realise her eyes are wet too. Even when you look at each other like you're used to, green and blue storms raging, conflicted emotions and concealed thoughts swirling in the backs of your minds.

You laugh. You laugh it all out even when something sqeezes in your throat. Even as your abs scream in pain from sobbing so hard.

You catch a glint of worry in Lyam's eyes even as he's laughing with you and you're glad Mia's chuckle is innocent and light. You wonder if this is all a dream, a scene your mind made up or another twisted game someone set up for the both of you.

  
After long minutes, you calm down and relax. You look up at her and there's a softness in her gaze that warms your flesh, your bones, your soul, deepest parts.

  
Maybe something changed, maybe nothing changed. Maybe things will be different, maybe they won't.

You don't know what will come but you're not scared anymore.

You both sit there on the ground between the two beings you love the most in the world, the link between you and her and her and you. Your body ache and your cheeks are as soaked as hers and in that moment,

  
You both know why.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ? Who do you think the "you" was this time ? Clarke or Lexa ?
> 
> Also, there won't be more tha' that to this story. It's up to you to imagine what might have happened in their past, what is happening in their present life and what will happen in their future ;)


End file.
